The agonized scream seized everyone’s attention.
Then, the crowd witnessed the impossible—the mighty Vermilion Bird, a Supreme Realm existence of the demonic race, had lost an arm.
The severed limb crashed to the ground, reverting to its true form: a massive, scaly claw.
Divine blood shimmered like liquid gemstones across its surface.
It turned out Ye Wushuang’s sword strike hadn’t just obliterated a distant star—it had also cleaved through the Vermilion Bird’s arm.
But the blade’s speed was so transcendent that even the Supreme Realm expert hadn’t reacted in time.
By the time the arm thudded onto the battlefield, the shock had already rippled through the observers.
Losing a limb wasn’t a fatal wound for a being like the Vermilion Bird.
At the Supreme Realm, while true “drop-of-blood rebirth” remained out of reach, regenerating severed flesh was trivial.
A mere expenditure of qi and spiritual energy would restore the arm.
But the humiliation? That couldn’t be so easily mended.
He was a Supreme—a pinnacle existence revered across the heavens.
Yet a mere Immortal King had maimed him.
The disgrace of this moment, witnessed by countless eyes, ignited the Vermilion Bird’s fury into an inferno.
“You DARE wound me?! DIE!!”
With a roar, the Vermilion Bird unveiled his true form. The severed arm regrew instantly, and from his maw erupted Vermilion Divine Fire—a blaze capable of scouring worlds.
The heat warped the air, threatening to reduce everything to ash.
At its epicenter, Ye Wushuang should have been vaporized.
Yet he stood unshaken, his voice calm as a frozen lake:
“One sword—to sever all laws.”
A single slash parted the sea of flames like a divine guillotine.
Amid the firestorm, Ye Wushuang stood like a deity of the blaze, the flames bowing to his will.
His current physique couldn’t achieve the legendary “overwhelming force to crush all techniques”—his Eight-Nine Heavenly Art hadn’t reached perfection.
But “one sword to break all methods”?
That required only insight and talent—qualities Ye Wushuang possessed in abundance.
And now, amplified by the Divine Dragon Empire’s twenty-five Greater Worlds, his power rivaled the Supreme Realm itself.
Every subsequent assault from the Vermilion Bird met the same fate—dissected by a flick of Ye Wushuang’s blade.
The demonic Supreme’s face darkened with each exchange.
“How?!” seethed the Vermilion Bird internally. “Her swordsmanship defies reason!”
Logically, a temporary power boost shouldn’t grant such flawless mastery.
Yet Ye Wushuang’s strikes carried the weight of true Supreme Realm prowess—no, beyond it.
Even as an ancient Supreme, the Vermilion Bird found himself outmatched.
Meanwhile, Ye Wushuang’s taunt dripped with icy amusement:
“Is this all you have, Vermilion Bird? Pathetic.”
“I suggest you unveil your clan’s Supreme Art—unless you wish to lose more than an arm next.”
The arrogance in his tone sent tremors through the demonic ranks.
Because judging by his current display—he could back those words.
For the Vermilion Bird, this was an unprecedented insult.
A Supreme, scorned by an Immortal King?!
“YOU COURT DEATH!!”
Driven beyond rage, the Vermilion Bird activated his lineage’s ultimate technique.
One moment he stood there—
The next, he vanished.
Even Supreme Realm observers barely tracked his movement as his Vermilion God-Claw materialized an inch above Ye Wushuang’s skull.
A twitch of his talons would pulp the Divine Dragon Empress’s head like overripe fruit.
The crowd gasped—
But Ye Wushuang smiled.
His sword moved.
The Nine-Leaf Sword Grass Manifestation erupted, its colossal form dwarfing the sky.
A single leaf swayed—
“SHING!!”
A light so piercing it seared retinas flashed across the battlefield.
Demonic soldiers clutched their heads as phantom swords materialized in their souls—a sensation of their very spirits being split.
The entire demonic front retreated in terror.
And then—
THUD.
Another claw hit the dirt.
Ye Wushuang’s voice cut through the silence like winter’s edge:
“Senility must be setting in. You forgot so quickly what my blade can do.”
“Since repetition aids memory—allow me to remind you.”
The term “senility” meant nothing to the Vermilion Bird, but the mockery was unmistakable.
Crimson rage eclipsed all reason.
“YOU… YOU FORCE MY HAND!!” the Supreme howled, his aura spiraling into cataclysmic intensity.
“TODAY, YOU PERISH!!”
